The Other Woman
by kenina
Summary: Karen comes to Jim's apartment after work and they share a beer.


Title: The Other Woman

Spoilers: Set just before "Leap of Faith"

Rated: PG-13 for language

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Characters belong to Steven Bochco Productions.

A/N: I know very little about NYC geography, so forgive any factual errors, or feel free to point them out so I can revise. Also, I started this before "Leap of Faith," not knowing that Karen and Christie would meet for the first time in that episode. So this fic is a little AU in that respect – I couldn't make the timing mesh.

* * *

"That was the longest interrogation of my entire career. Another hour and _I _woulda confessed just to get the damn thing over with." Karen's voice was scratchy and rough, revealing the wear and tear of a long day at the squad.

Jim chuckled. "I know what you mean. Coupla years ago, Terry and I kept a guy for 23 and a half hours – it was a rape/homicide. We worked him in shifts around the clock. Just when we were gonna have to kick him, he gave it up 'cause I promised him a double cheeseburger and a Coke. Now he's doing 25 at Attica."

"That cheeseburger better have been the best one he ever ate." Karen laughed, momentarily replacing the exhaustion in her voice with that dry humor that always brightened Jim's own mood.

"Yeah," Jim replied, smiling. A comfortable silence ensued, and Jim contented himself with listening to the sounds of traffic around them. He knew when they hit the Bridge, because the sound and rhythm of the road underneath the car changed, and a moment later, Karen slowed almost to a stop.

"Backed up again?" Jim asked her.

"Yeah…which is weird, since it's after seven."

Jim shrugged. "My experience? Any time of the day or night, in this city. One thing I don't miss about driving."

Another pause in the conversation made Jim wonder what Karen was thinking. Was she pitying him, or did she agree, or did she just think the comment didn't need a response? He'd always taken for granted that some responses were communicated only in a facial expression or other type of body language, rather than verbally. Now he just had to guess at what those responses might be, unless he pressed for more information. And that just made the conversation awkward.

They began moving again then, and Karen took the first exit. Jim pictured the brick building as he knew it to be, sitting in the shadow of the bridge. Though there probably wasn't any shadow at the moment. Out of idle curiosity, he reached up and touched the passenger window, which was facing southwest, with the back of his hand. It was cool to the touch. "Has the sun set?" he asked on a whim.

"Getting there," Karen answered. "Thank God for Daylight Savings Time. I hate going home every night after dark."

Jim threw a mischievous smile in her direction. "Yeah? Doesn't really bother me one way or the other."

"Cute, Dunbar. Real cute."

A minute later, Karen pulled the car over to the curb and stopped, leaving the engine running. "Front door's up about 30 feet, this side of the street. There's someone parked right in front, where I usually drop you," she explained.

"No problem," he replied. "Hank'll make a beeline – he likes getting home more than _I_ do." Jim started to reach for the door handle, then stopped and turned back to her.

"Hey – why don't you come up and have a beer? My way of saying thank you for giving me a ride."

Karen didn't respond for a moment, and Jim wished again he could read her body language. "It's no big deal," she said finally. "Anyway, you don't wanna spring a guest on your wife, do you?"

"Nah – she's working late tonight. Come on." And without giving her a chance to turn him down, Jim stepped out of the car, slammed the door, and moved to the rear to let Hank out.

Karen turned off the car engine and joined Jim on the curb. "I guess it's _your_ turn to lead the way," she joked, and they both chuckled.

They headed in and rode up the elevator in silence. Jim realized he was a little nervous, and not at all sure why. He and Karen had developed what he'd consider a good friendship over the past couple months, and there was no reason he shouldn't invite her in for a drink. In fact, he'd wanted to ask her to do something outside of work for a while. He enjoyed her company, and he thought she enjoyed his, too.

"When did they convert this place?" Karen asked as they stepped out of the elevator and started down the hall.

"Ah…it was about six years ago, right before we got married. She was in a studio in the city, and I was in this condo in Queens that she hated, so we compromised on this place."

Jim smiled as he put the key in the lock, remembering the day they'd visited the converted lofts for the first time. The place was just being finished, and still smelled slightly musty from its days as a textile warehouse. He'd thought the smell had eventually gone away—until one day not long after he'd come home from the hospital, he'd realized he could smell the must again, ever so slightly.

After switching on the lights, Jim went through his ritual of putting his keys and sunglasses on the entrance table, and removing Hank's harness and setting it on the low stand underneath.

Behind him, he could hear Karen's high-heeled boots click against the hardwood as she wandered into the apartment. She whistled softly. "Not a bad compromise," she remarked. "The brickwork is great."

"It's original," Jim replied, turning to face her. "That was what sold me. That, and the short commute.

"Hey, can I take your jacket?" he continued, pausing by the coatrack and shrugging out of his overcoat.

"Yeah, sure," Karen replied, leather squeaking as she shrugged out of her jacket and walked over to put it in his outstretched hand. "You know, it's more than the brick, though. The colors are so…" She trailed off, maybe uncomfortable with the visual reference. "Anyway, someone has a real sense of style."

"It's all Christie," Jim told her, feeling again for the coatrack hook. "Even when I could see, I didn't give a damn about decorating." The coats both successfully settled, he turned back to her and smiled.

He could almost hear the return smile in her voice when she replied, "'Course not. Wouldn't want to go and spoil that macho image thing you got going on."

Jim snorted a laugh, then walked to the refrigerator and rummaged around. "Yeah, well, I gotta do something real macho right now, and feed the dog." He pulled out a Tupperware bowl with a plastic lid, and as soon as he pried off the lid, Hank's nails clicked across the wood floors as he hurried over to investigate.

Jim set the whole bowl down on the ground near the refrigerator, keeping the door propped open. "That should hold him for a while," he said, then stood and pulled out two beers. "Bud okay?"

"Sure," she replied. "Good to know you're not a beer snob."

Jim twisted the top off the first beer and held it out to her, then opened his own and took a long swig. "I'd offer you something to eat, but…"

"No, thanks," she said emphatically. "That Chinese takeout was more than enough. I gotta start bringing some fruit or something for when we end up staying late. All the fast food we've been making runs for is not doing good things for my fittin' into my clothes."

Jim laughed, casually holding out a hand to orient himself against the kitchen island. "Well, your arm hasn't gained any weight – I can tell you that much."

"But you'll let me know when it starts to get chunky?" she joked dryly. "Listen, don't do me any favors, okay? I might have to slug you."

He exhaled sharply, still smiling. "Let's sit," he offered, leading the way over to the living room area. He heard Karen follow, and gestured for her to take a seat on the sofa, across from where he sank down into the matching armchair sitting at a right angle. A second later, he heard a clink as she set her beer bottle down on the end table, and a click as she switched on the lamp that sat there.

"So…" Jim said on a slow exhale.

"So…" Karen said at the same moment.

They both laughed a little. "If you don't mind, I'm going to…" Jim trailed off, letting his body language finish his sentence as he reached to loosen his tie. After he set his beer bottle down on the end table, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and laid it across his knees while he finished removing his tie and unfastening the top button of his royal blue shirt.

"Sure. That's the first thing _I_ do when I get home," Karen replied easily. "I'm just glad I don't have to wear a tie like you guys do."

Jim shrugged. "I'm used to it during the day. But as soon as I get home, it gets tight." Standing, he added, "Be right back – gonna hang these up while I'm thinking about it. If I lay them down out here, I'll never find them again."

"No problem," Karen said.

Jim went into the bedroom and carefully hung the jacket and tie in their places in the closet, then headed back to the living room. Finding his chair, he sat and slid his hand carefully along the table till he found his beer bottle. "So, what _do_ you wear?"

"Excuse me?" Karen's slightly indignant voice came from over near the windows, and he turned his head, surprised. He'd assumed she was still on the couch, but apparently she'd gotten up to check out the view.

Jim smiled, pleased that his question had had the intended effect. "You said you were glad you didn't have to wear a tie. I can't see you wearing a suit to work. So what doyou wear? Besides the leather jacket, I mean."

She paused a moment before answering, and he listened again to her light, confident footsteps as she came back to the couch, sat, and crossed her legs. She picked up her beer and took a drink. Finally, she answered, sounding a little self-conscious, "Dress slacks and shirt, most days, I guess."

Jim nodded, angling his head a bit in acknowledgement of her reply, and took a long drink from his beer.

"My turn to ask a question," Karen said.

"Shoot."

"Something happen between you and Marty?" she asked. "Or has he just cooled off 'cause of the Lieutenant yanking his overtime? The last few days, he's been…he's been almost like he was…you know, before…"

"Before I showed up?" Jim finished for her, smiling slightly.

"Yeah."

It was Jim who took a few moments to answer her then. He started and stopped a couple of times, then finally said, "After the overtime thing, we had a…conversation. Figured some things out."

"What things?" Karen pressed him.

Jim hesitated, then replied vaguely, "Hard to put into words." It wasn't really, but he didn't want to admit to Karen – nor did he think Russo would appreciate his sharing with her – the real reason for the discord between the two men. That it hadn't been about Jim's blindness, or Russo's thinking he wasn't fit for duty, but rather his irritation at Jim's trying so hard to fit in and prove his worth to the squad. "We just came to a…gentlemen's agreement."

"Well, whatever you call it, I'm glad you got it out of your systems."

Jim let that remark pass without comment, and again there was a palpable pause in the conversation. Jim shifted in his seat, and took another drink. He could hear Karen doing the same. He got the distinct feeling that she wanted to ask him something, but was hesitating.

He didn't have to wonder for long. After another second, she ventured, "So…I've been wanting to ask you something that's probably none of my business."

Jim said nothing, just raised his eyebrows and waited for her to continue.

"What did the Chief of Ds want with you the other day?"

Jim struggled to keep the surprise he felt from showing in his expression. He took a drink from his bottle, then lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. "I...at the Korean grocery, I drew my weapon, and someone called to complain about it."

"You're shitting me." Karen's voice was full of disbelief and indignation, for which Jim was strangely grateful. "Don't people have anything better to do?"

"Apparently not." Jim ran a hand over his face, kneading his temples briefly, then shrugged again, not wanting to elaborate further on the conversation.

"So what did he say? I mean, I'm guessing he wouldn't have come to the squad if he was gonna back you up on it."

"Basically he said if I do it again, they're going to yank my carrying privilege." The embarrassment and irritation Jim had felt at the rebuke was evident in his voice, and he knew it. It had been there, simmering at the surface of his consciousness, for days, just waiting to boil over at the slightest provocation.

Karen was quiet for a moment, then asked in a low voice, "They can't do that, can they? I figured it was part of the lawsuit."

Jim nodded. "It was, but I cut a deal. They agreed to let me carry with a medical qualification waiver. Which meant they didn't have to change the official policy – that all cops have to have eyesight corrected to 20/20."

Jim sighed. He'd never wanted to get into the specifics of his ADA lawsuit with her – with any of them. "So they can tear up the waiver anytime they want, and I have no recourse unless I want to go back to court."

"Well, that sucks," Karen said angrily. "Why'd you agree to it?"

"So I could go back to work," Jim replied quietly. "It was that, or nothing. Trust me. I tried. For a year." He shrugged, again trying to steer the conversation to its end. "Bottom line? I'm going to draw my weapon when I think it might come in handy. Just like I did before. So, don't be worrying that I don't have your back."

"Hey," she said immediately. "I never worry about that."

Jim smiled, genuinely touched by her emphatic response. "Thanks."

They sat in silence for a moment, until Karen asked, "So why can't you see me wearing a suit?"

The question caught Jim off guard, and he was struggling to think of a reply that wouldn't put him in the doghouse when they heard the front door open. Jim said a silent thank you to the heavens, and stood and turned in that direction, hearing Karen do the same next to him. "Christie? That you?"

"No, it's a burglar with a key," she called back, her voice light and teasing. The door clicked shut, and Jim heard rustling as she set her purse down and hung up her coat. She took a couple steps and stopped. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't realize we had company."

Her footsteps resumed, and she joined them in the living room. When Jim felt her nearby, he reached out to her, making contact with her arm and sliding his hand along her back. "Hon, this is my partner, Karen Bettancourt. Karen, this is my wife, Christie."

The two women exchanged effusive greetings, and Jim felt Christie lean forward slightly as she reached out to shake Karen's hand. "I'm sorry I'm so late," Christie said. "I didn't know you were coming by, or I would have had something for dinner."

Although Christie's voice was friendly, Jim could hear the barest hint of annoyance directed at him for surprising her with a guest. "We've only been here a few minutes ourselves. Karen gave me a ride, so I offered a beer as a thank you," he explained. "We ate takeout at the squad."

Jim rubbed his hand in a slow, casual but intimate circle on Christie's back. She was wearing a silk blouse, and he wondered briefly what color it was. Probably a pastel, since it was spring and knowing Christie's taste. Cool blues and purples always looked best on her, set off against her raven hair. His hand dipped lower then, to the small of her back, where he let it rest.

"Well, I should get going," Karen piped up. "It was nice to finally meet you, Christie. I've heard a lot about you. All good things, of course."

"Same goes for you," Christie replied warmly. "Listen, we need to have you over for dinner one night – maybe on a Saturday. I've been meaning to have Jim invite you."

"That'd be great," Karen said, sounding genuinely pleased.

"Great," Christie echoed. "Why don't you check your calendar, and you two can work out a date?" She paused, then added, "And, of course, you're welcome to bring someone, if…"

"Oh, no…I'm not really seeing anyone," Karen replied, clearing her throat. Jim, becoming more familiar every day with Karen's mannerisms, recognized that she was uncomfortable. He wondered if the word _really_ meant that she _was_ actually seeing someone, but just wasn't yet ready to admit it.

Jim cleared his throat. "Hey, thanks for coming up – and thanks again for the ride."

"No problem. Thanks for the beer." Karen took a step or two away from the couch, and Jim felt Christie nudge him. He released his hold on her but grasped her hand loosely and led her behind him as they followed Karen to the door. As she walked past the kitchen, Karen set her beer on the island counter, then grabbed her jacket from the coatrack. "So, I'll see you tomorrow, Jim," she said.

"Okay. Good night," he replied, holding up his free hand, palm outward, in a casual farewell gesture.

"'Bye," Christie added.

"'Bye." Karen opened the door, and as it clicked shut behind her, Jim went to it and turned the deadbolt. Christie didn't move behind him, and he stayed where he was for a few seconds, half-afraid of what she was planning to say now that they were alone.

"So that's the famous Karen," she finally said, and Jim could tell by her tone of voice that she wasn't upset, so he turned around and nodded.

"That's Karen," he agreed. "Sorry for not telling you…it was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing, really. We had an interview that got dicey and ran over a couple hours."

He walked over to her and reached out to touch her shoulders just in time to feel her shrug. "She's very pretty."

Jim lifted one shoulder and tilted his head a little in agreement. "Yeah, I figured. She gets hit on a lot at work." He leaned down toward where he knew her lips to be, and she lifted her head to meet his in a tender kiss. "I know what you're thinking, but I wish you wouldn't," he added.

"What am I thinking?" Christie asked, and he heard a slight edge to her words.

He kissed her again. "I've told you, I'm not the same person I was last year at this time. Karen my partner, and she's my friend. And that's all. Okay?"

This time it was Christie's time to initiate the kiss, and then she folded herself into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his solid torso and resting her cheek against his shoulder. "Okay," she said, her voice muffled against his shirt.

"Okay," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. Putting his hands back on her shoulders, he gently leaned her away from him so they were face to face. "Hey – I love you."

She raised a hand to caress his cheek, their own private version of the intimate connection that most couples made so easily through eye contact. "I love you, too, Jimmy."

"And to prove it," Jim continued, "I'm going to cook dinner for you." Before Christie could argue, he released her and moved toward the kitchen cabinets. He opened one and ran his hand lightly over its contents until he found the long, slim box he was looking for, then turned back toward where he'd left her. "How does angel hair sound?"

"It sounds wonderful. Thank you," she said, and the emotion evident in her voice was enough to make him very glad he'd offered. "I'm going to go change."

He nodded, and when she was gone, he went to the refrigerator to pull out a bottle of chardonnay they'd opened the night before, intending to pour a glass to have ready for her when she emerged from the bedroom.

As he continued on with dinner preparations, Jim found himself mulling over the events of that evening. He would be lying to himself if he said he'd never felt any spark of attraction toward Karen. They worked closely together, both figuratively and literally, due to his using her as a guide several times a day. And she was attractive to him – true, he didn't know what she looked like, but he knew she smelled great and had a wonderfully husky voice, and was small and feminine and wore a sexy leather jacket. There was a lot about her to stimulate his senses, and he was a man, after all.

Despite the physical attraction he did feel toward her, though, Jim knew he'd never act on it. For one, he treasured the friendship and partnership that they were developing. He'd never had a female partner before, but the bonds he'd had with his male partners had been sacred and incredibly important to him. He was beginning to feel that for Karen, and there was no way, even if he hadn't been married, that he'd want to mess with that.

He hoped Christie believed what he'd just said to her, and would come to understand how he felt about his wife versus his partner. Their marriage had gone through some really rough patches, especially recently, but they seemed to be coming out of it, and were enjoying each other's company more than they had in a long time. And Karen…well, they hadn't talked about anything approaching romance since he'd asked about her eye color, and he didn't expect her to bring it up again.

It was going to be an interesting balancing act between the two women in Jim's life, that was for sure. And he was looking forward to it.

* * *

Please leave a review! 


End file.
